I missed the feeling of being active and mobile with my own body. But, at 62 years old and having fell on my back quite severely that one time during my work, I know my limitation and how dangerous (and painful) it would be to push through for a trail run with my grandson that proven himself to be quite a capable collegiate cross-country star despite his effeminate stature. That was until he shown me what technology nowadays capable of by merely clicking a few buttons and paid up some hefty sum
It was a painless, quick and involved no surgery whatsoever. A click at a profile and I found myself transported hundreds of miles away to a totally different body that I just stumbled on the app that fit my preference and the payment tier I picked.
Let's just say, my fruity grandson suddenly have the hots for his old man and thinking that since I'm practically no longer his grandpa for the time being, he got a shot to get fucked by this blonde stud. I explained to him that as much as I loved him, this body just simply don't swing that way. But, it's not like I can't let him sniff a few dirty laundry of mine. With the fact that this jacked blonde stud is on prep for an Ironman competition, I have some fair share of insanely pungent cycling jersey and tight shorts from all the cycling and running I did that he can indulge himself with. He's lucky I can repress this youngin's homophobia to a certain degree, because such absurd request usually met with quite a response from this stud
But now, I met such outlandish request with a grin and some remarks about how my scent would drive him nuts, which he usually replied with excitement and a couple hundred bucks sent to my bank account as proof of his insatiable lust over my scent. That boy really is fucked in the head LOL
Peter liked his life, and his body. Sure, he wasn’t a multimillionaire with a sculpted six pack, but he was comfortable being the manager of a local restaurant. His dating life was okay, his apartment was okay, and his life was okay.
Recently, a content creator started showing up on Peter’s For You Page. His name was Brandon, he was 6’4, and built like a god. He posted pictures of his gorgeous body relaxing on sandy beaches, and videos of his tight shorts struggling to contain his massive muscles. He often talked about his life, the incredible trips he took, the local food he got to try, and the fans that he stumbled into every once in a while.
After a while, Brandon became Peter’s favorite content creator, and sometimes Peter felt like he truly knew Brandon, even if only parasocially. He knew the sound of his laughter; it was loud, and unapologetic. He knew exactly Brandon’s type; tall, lean men that posed for his videos in tiny, bright-colored trunks. He would often wrap his guns around their shoulders and pull them in while smirking at the camera. He knew the way Brandon talked. He had listened to his voice talk about an endless amount of subjects; the gym, his friends, taking care of plants, traveling, macros, and even his experience as a gay man.
Peter was straight. Totally straight. But he could still admire Brandon through his screen. And, while Peter was straight, he wasn’t blind. He knew Brandon was handsome, rich, and successful. Despite them being total opposites, Peter felt a connection, he felt like they were friends.
The night before his thirtieth birthday, Peter found himself stuck doomscrolling yet again. He was trying to distract himself. His life was good, he kept thinking, as if he needed to convince himself. He swiped a couple of times before he met eye to eye with Brandon. He looked excited and had a wide smile. He was shirtless, as per usual, and spoke a little bit louder too.
Peter stared at his little light box of joy as Brandon announced that the following day, June 22nd, he would celebrate turning thirty. He thanked his fans for their support and ended the video with his signature smile.
Peter put his phone down. What were the chances that both him and Brandon would have the same birthday? He settled into bed and stared at the ceiling. He felt off. Brandon was his age exactly. What was Pete doing with his life? He contemplated his own achievements. He could count them on his right hand. He ran his hand over his beer belly.
Maybe he didn’t like his life as much as he thought.
He had a rough night of sleep. He writhed in his bed and woke up with a cold sweat. He sat up on his bed and put one of his hands to his forehead. It felt strange. Like his hand was bigger, and rougher somehow. He decided he didn’t have a fever, but he should get some water before going back to bed. He threw his feet off the bed and felt them hit a soft rug. Weird, he didn’t have a rug. And he didn’t sleep barefoot either. He tried looking around the room, but the darkness made it impossible. That’s odd too. He didn’t have blackout curtains. He found his phone under his pillow, though it was seemingly smaller than he remembered. The screen lit up when he brought it up to his face, and the wallpaper didn’t match his own. He squinted at the phone and tried to make sense of it. He swiped up to unlock it and realized his skin was not the same color as before.
Peter was confused, and disoriented, and a little optimistic as well. He lumbered around the dark room with an astounding lack of dexterity, until he found what he thought were the curtains, and drew them back.
The room lit up immediately, and he blinked while his eyes adjusted to the light. What he saw made his jaw drop. He looked down at his body in awe. It was muscular and big. So much bigger than what he was used to. He lifted his arms and flexed, admiring the way his veins popped against his muscles. He was Brandon now.
He looked back at the phone which he was still holding in his other hand.
The phone was receiving texts from an unknown number. He recognized it as his old number. They started slow and confused, and then continued with an escalating level of urgency. He opened them. It was “Brandon,” who was asking questions like “who are you?” “How did this happen?” And “how do we go back?”
The texts got more desperate.
please man
you have my life
you have my body
we have to go back
He looked down at his new body. Then, he looked around his luxury apartment. His larger finger hovered over the text box.
You have blocked this number.
He didn’t want to go back. He knew exactly who he was now, and there is no way in hell he would ever return to his old life and his old body if he could help it. He sat down again. He knew who he was, he was Brandon now. And he didn’t need to worry about how to go back.
This would take some getting used to. The power, the body, the job… even his new found attraction for men, which he apparently inherited as well. Brandon didn’t care, though. He liked his new self.
I couldn’t believe it when my boss, Mr. Johnson, asked me to swap bodies with him for the upcoming conference. He had a big presentation to give, but he had lost his voice and couldn’t speak. He thought it would be a great opportunity for me to step in and take over.
At first, I was hesitant. I had never experienced anything like this before, and the idea of being in charge was both exciting and intimidating. As soon as we completed the swap, I could feel a sense of power and confidence surging through my body.
I had always been a hard worker, but now that I was in Mr. Johnson’s body, I felt like I could do anything. The conference itself was a blur. I was nervous at first, but as soon as I took the stage, I felt a rush of adrenaline. I spoke confidently, answering questions with ease and impressing the audience. I felt like I was born to be a leader.
Even after we returned home I stayed in his body while we waited for the spell to wear off. I was becoming more like him each day. I strutted around the office, barking orders at my coworkers and making sure everyone was doing their job correctly. I even caught myself laughing at their jokes less, because I was so focused on being the boss.
But as the days went on, I started to notice changes in myself. I was becoming more selfish, more controlling, and more detached from the people around me. I started to boss my coworkers around more, making unreasonable demands and expecting them to work harder and longer hours.
At first, they didn’t say anything. But as time went on, they started to resent me. They complained about me behind my back, and some even went to HR to complain about my behavior.
It was then that I realized the downside of being in Mr. Johnson’s body. Sure, I had all the confidence and power I could ask for, but I had lost touch with the people around me. I was so focused on being the boss that I had forgotten what it was like to be a team player. I was looking forward to going back to my old body, but as time went on the switch never happened. I was forced to settle down as Mr. Johnson and carried this attitude with me.
"How do you feel in there?" I asked my friend as I adjusted the vest I was wearing.
"The bald head I'll have to get used to, but I'm kinda loving the handlebar mustache" my friend responded with a cocked smile.
"Look at all those idiots out there still searching for us, they have no clue we hopped into these officers" I said.
"Shhhh, we aren't in the clear yet" my friend responded. It was kind of erotic hearing his hush me in such an authoritative done. My boner must have been poking through my uniform.
"We're gonna head back to the station, we'll see if anyone called in for them there" said my friend, perfectly emulating a police officer. As soon as we hopped in the car my friend pulled me in close and began making out with me. I couldn't help but feel his smooth bald head as I felt the bristles from his moustache graze my skin. He leaned back, and began driving away with one hard on the wheel and the other unzipping his pants.
"What? Just because we're on the run from the cops doesn't mean we can't have a little fun in there bodies" he said. I laughed, and got ready to please him, hoping he'd return the favor back to me afterwards.
“Well this is what i have to work with now” I sighed as I walked into the bathroom getting used to hefting my big size wearing my Dad’s suit. I took a long look at the the balding old white man in the mirrror, I threw my foot on the counter, “I do like these dress socks” though, admiring my Dad’s big foot clad in over the calf dress socks, i started to get hard. “Wow this body gets hard pretty quick” I mused, I’m getting comfy in this body, this suit just molds to me, reminding me that i now inhabit my dads dumpy body while he runs around in my tall tan and fit body. I’m pissed but weirdly aroused by the situation, This suit is getting me hot so i remove the coat and set it on the counter and whip my dick out, I grin, not as big or gritty as mine but I’ll work with it, I stroke it for a while and hold off on coming, i want to save that for tonight, I tuck it back into his boring boxers and zip up. I take a photo and suddenly a scruff notification came through, I opened the app and saw quite a few active dms, I grin to myself getting more okay with inhabiting my dads dumpy old body
I woke up feeling incredibly groggy. My head pounded from last night's activities as me and my friends went out and parties too hard. I rubbed my eyes and felt that something was off but attributed it to the hangover. When I reopened my eyes I noticed I was in a completely different bedroom than I am used to.
'Shit I must've went home with someone last night' I thought to myself. I looked at the other side of the bed and noticed that it was empty. I reached for my phone but noticed that there was someone else's phone sitting on the nightstand. I grabbed the phone to check the time but it unlocked automatically. I thought this was weird, and then I noticed my hands felt different. They looked more weathered and aged than normal. My eyes followed down my arms as I realized dark hair was sprouted across my forearms. I looked down and felt skin under my chin bunch up and a stubbled beard poked my skin. I realized that my slender frame was replaced with a thicker layer of skin and hair.
"Holy shit" I said aloud, and noticed that my voice sounded different but familiar. I quickly rolled out of the bed and caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror. I recognized it as the guy I went home with last night. Both of my hands raised instinctually as I slapped them across my face unable to believe it. I realized that if I'm in his body then he must be in mine. I had to warn my friends. Luckily I had Jake's number memorized as he was one of my closest friends and roommate.
"Dude. I need your help, it's me Ryan" I texted.
"Haha yeah right. Ryan's right next to me. Who is this?"
"It's me! Ryan! The guy from the bar last night stole my body" I texted pack with a picture of me and my new body.
"Alright. I'm blocking you. Ryan said that you were crazy and that's why he left the hookup. Leave us alone!" Jake responded. I tried to text back but none of my messages went through. I had no idea how he'd done it but I was now trapped in this older man's body.
-------
It has been about two months since that night, and honestly I don't regret a thing. I struggled at first no longer being a young twenty year old guy, but now I AM one of the guys I was attracted to and I decided to embrace it. I fully adopted this guy's life, and have been killing it at his job. I never thought I'd be a corporate office worker but I've done so well I even got a raise.
I'm loving these glasses, this reflection, and everything about him. I've never had my own house, nor this much money before. I don't think this guy thought it through when he switched with me, because I definitely won in the end.
My friends and I have had a hard time meeting our sales numbers recently. It looked bad that all three of us were missing our metrics, and our managers told us that we had to figure it out by the end of the month. We were in the breakroom talking about what we were going to do. We gave up until we saw the CEO, CFO, and COO all walk into our building and head to the board room. One of my friends Jake had a serious complexion on his face. He said he had a plan and that we just needed to follow suit.
We walked into the board room, and the three executives were laughing and having a good time. We were frustrated, seeing how our jobs were on the line, but these guys just got to reap the benefits of our hard work.
"What are you three doing in here?" said the executive that was standing up, presumably leading whatever meeting they were having. My friend looked around the corners of the room and smiled. He walked around the room and turned his charm on as he patted each of them on the back. He then stood in front of the room and smiled and clicked a button he had. Simultaneously all three of the executives began to deflate. It was a surreal experience seeing these men go from laughing to panic and finally emotionless as their body's became a shell of what they once were.
"Have your pick" my friend said with a smile, and picked up the executive that was leading the speech. My other friend walked over to the executive that was balding with a moustache, so I was left with the last one. I hesitated as I picked up the flesh-like suit. I took a deep breath and pulled him over my body. I slipped into his arms, and felt the partially deflated body come to life as I aligned myself within him. It felt like putting on gloves, but they were warm and tingled as my body expanded to fill out the suit. Once I had everything aligned, I felt the back close up. Before I could even take a minute to take in the experience of gaining 20 years of life, and a large gut, my friend began talking.
"Now if you could all refer to the pamphlet I gave at the start of the meeting" We all laughed, realizing that we were now the executives of the company. I looked down at the pamphlet, realizing that the letters and pages looked blurry.
"I cant even read it in this body" I laughed. I felt my gut expand and retract as I let out a billowing laughter.
"Put on your readers!" My friend said continuing to laugh. He must have felt a buzz in his pocket and pulled out the executives phone. "Ah, the old ball-and-chain, I gotta take this" he said with a wink.
"I'm going to go take care of business" said my other friend wearing the man with the moustache. He grabbed his package as he said so. I laughed and realized that I wanted to do the same.
"Let me join you" I said standing up. I felt his body sag and weight me down. I had to walk with a wide gait but I had to admit walking with this power and authority was alluring me. I liked this idea of job security, and was excited to run this company with my friends.
My company has recently been having weekly events that promote positivity in the workplace. Past events have been them buying lunch at the office, or a social happy hour. My department has been lacking at attending the events so my boss, Mr. Beecher, told us we all had to attend the next one. This time the Company had hired a yoga instructor so we all had to do some stretches at the start of the day together. The event took place in one of our large conference rooms. The instructor told us to remove our shoes at the entry way and find a mat. We all complied but it felt weird walking around the workplace in only socks. The yoga session went normal, except my boss had to leave early cause his work phone kept buzzing. When the session wrapped up we all began to look for our shoes, slowly everyone found theirs and left the conference room. I noticed a similar pair to what I was wearing but it was a couple sizes too big so I knew it wasn’t mine. I recognized the shoes though, as it was Mr. Beecher’s himself. I laughed as I picked up the shoes and began walking to his office. I was smiling realizing that I was going to have to explain that he accidentally put on my shoes. I finally got to his office and knocked on the door.
“Come In!” Mr. Beecher said through the door.
“Hey Mr. Beecher” I said a little awkwardly. “I think we accidentally swapped shoes at the yoga event” I continued.
“No Travis, I think I would know what shoes I have on” he responded sternly, in his usual serious tone.
“They look pretty similar so I get why they got mixed up but these shoes would be way to large on me” I continued to explain. He kept brushing me off so I decided to put on the shoes and show him how large they would look on my feet. I slipped my right foot into the loafer and felt my foot settle into place comfortably. I honestly thought that it would look huge on me but it didn’t. Mr. Beecher raised his eyebrow at me like I was crazy. I slipped my left foot into the other shoe as I was already committed to the bit at this point. I stood tall and noticed that the shoes didn’t look that large on me.
I bent over to remove the shoes but no matter how hard I tried to pull them off they wouldn’t budge. I felt an aching begin to form in my ankles. Slowly the aching began to raise up my leg, causing my leg to feel a little swollen. I looked down and noticed that my black pants were now merging into a gray color. I looked across at Mr. Beecher who had a curious look on his face. I watched as his face winced and he stood up from his desk. He walked around from his desk and I noticed that his gray pants were morphing into black pants. The transformation began to double in time, and spread throughout my body. The aching grew through my chest and broadened my shoulders, as a tight bright blue tie wrapped around my neck.
Mr. Beecher removed his glasses as the transformation grew on him. His tall and broad frame became slender. I realized that he was now wearing the suit that I walked into this office with.
“Wait a minute” I said aloud, noticing that my voice had a stern tone to it and was much deeper than before. I grabbed my throat and felt rough skin in place of where my smooth neck used to be. I felt my hand brush past some facial hair, and I began to notice that a goatee grew across my face. My facial features morphed. My cheekbones raised up as I felt my head elongate slightly. My ears tensed us as they grew and moved into place on my head. I could feel my hair recede and eventually become barren up top. I raised my eyebrows noticing a different weight on my brow, as wrinkles formed on my forehead. I didn’t even need to look in the mirror, I already knew what had happened. I looked across at Mr. Beecher and watched as the reverse transformation occurred to him. We were both staring at a replica of our old selves.
“You’re… me” he said, in a curious light tone.
I extended my arms out and felt the suit tug on my arms slightly. “It appears so” I responded.
“Oh my god this is great!” Mr. Beecher said in a cheery voice. A huge smile grew across his face as he moved his body around. This was not the reaction I was expecting from Mr. Beecher. He was always so stern but now he was incredibly giddy.
“This isn’t how I thought you’d react” I said raising an eyebrow out of instinct.
“I was just thinking that I wish I knew what people thought about me, and this is my chance to do so. I can also review the department from the inside and see how everyone is working” he responded.
He walked over to his computer and put a block on his calendar for an hour. “Can we stay like this just for the day, and then we can try to figure out how to go back?” he asked. “Come onnnnn, it’ll be fun, you can be the boss for the day” he continued.
I smirked at the though of that. I walked over to his desk where he removed his glasses. I grabbed my hankerchief out of my jacket and cleaned the lenses before slipping it on my face. “I’m in” I said with a small laugh. I walked over to his chair and sat it in. I sat up straight and brushed off my jacket. I clapsed my hands together and sat forward. “So Travis” I said sternly. “What did you want to talk about?” I asked with a smile on his face.
Mr. Beecher in my body laughed. We got to business and spent the next hour training each other how to pass as one another for the day. Eventually, Mr. Beecher in my body left the office and I was all alone. I leaned back in my chair and put my hands behind my head and looked around my office. I smiled realizing that this body and the power it comes with was all mine now. I was going to have some fun today, but first, I have some business attend to. I locked my office door and began to feel up my body. I hope Mr. Beecher doesn’t mind, but I saw him adjusting his bulge in my body, so I bet he’s doing the same. It’s time to get to know the real Mr. Beecher, I thought as I removed my belt buckle and felt my buldge.
“I guess I better get used to this reflection” I said to myself staring at my new body. I was a total Dad in the best way possible.
This was my final test in order to pass body swapping school. I come from a line of body swappers while we are growing up we have limited access to our powers. However, on everyone’s 18th birthday, they get assigned to a random body, and have to pretend to be that person for a month. If all goes smooth, you are gained access to your full powers. The school runs this test to make sure that we use our power responsibly, and take powers away from those who fail the test. I had the rest of my life on the line with this test so I couldn’t mess it up.
I woke up this morning to find that I was assigned to Rick Taylors body, I snuck away from his bed when I woke up and searched through my new wallet to get my name. I also spent a lot of time searching through his phone to understand this guys personality and interests. I grabbed the hat that was sitting on the counter and put it on. It felt comfortable, and after searching through his photo’s it looks like he wears hats a lot. I also saw a bunch of sports related content on his phone, so I knew I’d have to study up on that in order to pass as Rick Taylor. As I continued searching through his phone I noticed that he has a husband and two kids, I was stoked to find out I was at least gay, I was worried I would have to pretend to like having a wife. I read through the rest of the texts and noticed that my husband and kids were away for the weekend so I had a couple of days to get acquainted before the trial really begins.
“Well if I’m gonna have to get comfortable I guess I should take the time to do so” I said aloud grabbing my bulge through my camo boxers. This was going to be tough but it was kind of hot having to pretend to be someone else. I need to pass this test so I can keep this power, I’ll do whatever it takes.
Evan had been hired to play a construction worker for a deliberately provocative fashion campaign: hard hat, reflective vest, tiny white briefs, and an oversized cigar clenched between his teeth.
“Give me tougher,” the photographer called.
Evan drew deeply on the cigar and stared through the glass wall as the camera flashed. The smoke tasted strangely sweet. Heavy.
His face changed first. Soft youth hardened into middle age within seconds—stubble spreading across his cheeks, lines pressing into his brow. Then his stomach lurched.
A huge weight burst outward beneath his tight shirt.
Evan gasped around the cigar as his abdomen inflated into a massive, hanging belly. His chest sagged, his waist vanished, and thick flesh packed itself around his hips, arms, neck, and thighs. The white briefs strained against his swelling body while the reflective vest was pushed helplessly aside.
The photographer never stopped shooting.
By the final flash, the handsome young model was gone. A heavy, middle-aged man stood in his place, breathing hard, cigar smoke curling around his bewildered face. His enormous belly protruded beneath the shirt, permanently reshaping his body.
Evan tried to pull the cigar from his mouth.
His hand refused.
Instead, he took another slow drag—and heard the photographer whisper:
POV: The stadium is louder than anything you have ever heard. Tens of thousands of voices crash over you as you stand several steps behind the penalty spot, staring at the ball as though it belongs to somebody else. A few minutes ago, you were sitting in your Athens apartment with a bowl of olives on the table scratching your big hairy belly. Now your legs are lean and powerful, your lungs barely feel the strain, your cock is young and twitching in your tight athletic briefs and an Argentina shirt clings to a body the entire world recognizes.
Your teammates shout a mix of encouragement and threats if you mess up in Spanish—and somehow you understand every word. When you answer, the language comes naturally from your mouth. That should frighten you, but beneath the panic is a rush of impossible excitement. You are no longer an overweight middle-aged man watching history from his couch in Greece. For one moment, you are the superstar at the center of it.
The referee blows the whistle. You glance toward the goalkeeper, trying to remember everything you have ever seen footballers do. Then instinct settles into your new muscles. Your heartbeat slows. You take the first step forward and realize that, terrified or not, you have been given the chance to become a hero. "No la cagues (Don't screw up)" you tell yourself...
POV: You lurch forward on the couch, an unfamiliar huge belly pressing against your shirt making it hard for you to stand as you stare at the television. On the screen, your own body waits beside the penalty spot, wearing your number and your face—but the expression is wrong. Nervous. Awestruck. Whoever is inside you has no idea what they are doing.
You try to shout instructions in Spanish at the television, but the words refuse to come. What bursts from your mouth instead is rapid Greek: “Όχι! Ηρέμησε! Κοίτα τον τερματοφύλακα, ηλίθιε! (No! Calm down! Look at the goalkeeper you idiot!)” You understand yourself perfectly, yet Spanish has vanished from your mind. Your voice is deeper and rougher, your lungs feel heavy from years of smoking and breathing in Athens’s heavy smog, and even rising from the couch sends a dull strain through your older knees.
The camera closes in on your former face. You raise both hands helplessly toward the television, realizing that millions of people are watching a stranger control your body in the semi-finals of the World Cup - what should have been the biggest moment of your young career. You can only sit in this cramped Athens apartment and pray that the Greek man wearing your skin has learned enough from watching you to know where to place the ball in the net.
Twenty-four-year-old Tyler went into the costume shop looking for something to wear to his swim team’s end-of-semester party. The theme was “movie characters,” and he decided that his mustache and swimmer’s physique made him perfect for some kind of Magic Mike costume. Near the back of the shop, Tyler found faded blue plumber’s coveralls with a stitched name patch reading MIKE. He grinned at the word play. A sexy blue-collar version of Magic Mike practically wrote itself.
The coveralls hung loosely from his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Tyler left the front partly unfastened, struck an exaggerated pose in the mirror, and buckled the heavy tool belt around his hips.
Then his stomach pushed against it. His tight swimmer’s body softened and expanded, his belly swelling into a huge, heavy gut that sagged over his waistband.
Gray spread through his hair as his handsome young face broadened and aged toward fifty. His chest remained powerful and hairy, but his waist grew thick and solid. His mustache became fuller while deep lines settled around his eyes.
As the changes slowed his cloudy mind grabbed his items and left the changing room - pausing in front of a vanity. He lifted his belly and stared at the burly plumber in the mirror.
For one fading moment, he remembered a swimming pool, a college campus, and a name that might have been Tyler. Then the memories slipped away.
Mike frowned at himself, wondering why he had wasted so much time posing in front of a mirror. He buttoned his coveralls over his belly, checked the tools on his belt, and headed out to the van. He had three service calls left before dinner and he was starving!
Tom could not stop thinking about his brief experience as a middle-aged daddy that one fateful night he played Body Swap Roulette with his friends. He often returned to his online profile and looked at the man who had messaged him - the man he briefly became for one glorious evening.
The photograph waited beneath the username: a rugged man in his mid-forties, dark hair escaping beneath a baseball cap, salt-and-pepper beard, chest hair spreading across a broad, solid torso.
Brian - the name was not listed in the app, but instead it was seared into his mind from the experience - an indelible part of his own consciousness - and a side-effect of playing the game he had not anticipated. Brian was the body Tom had worn for one impossible night during the roulette.
He had hated changing back. For weeks afterward, Tom kept remembering the weight of Brian’s arms, the scrape of his beard, the confident way he felt when he hooked-up with a younger man in Brian's body - his new dick thicker, his urges keen, sharp, with a hint of closeted desperation. Even the softness around his waist had felt substantial rather than imperfect. He had occupied space without apologizing for it.
What Tom had not expected to miss were the other things Brian had left in his mind. A woman laughing somewhere behind him. Two children arguing over a television remote. A suburban kitchen glowing at dawn. The pressure of a wedding ring that had never actually appeared on his finger and never truthfully belonged there to begin with. They were not memories exactly. More like emotional bruises left behind by a life he had touched.
At nine thirty on a Friday night, Tom sat alone at his kitchen table wearing the same red polo he had worn during the first game. He stared at Brian’s photograph until the screen dimmed. He had debated revisiting Brian’s body for weeks - but it was against the rules of the game he had agreed to with his friends. Too risky to do alone. Too much a chance of losing yourself in the shuffle.
Tom couldn’t stand it anymore - he needed to feel Brian again. Needed to feel his weight. Wanted to rub a hand through his scruff. Wanted to see his pouty eyes looking back at him in the mirror. Wanted to feel the weight of his dick in his hand. Most of all - Tom wanted to better understand Brian. So against the rules and his better judgement, Tom waited for Brian’s name to appear with a green dot then he restored his profile and pinged Brian. As soon as Brian responded Tom knew he sealed the deal.
The change began in his hands. His fingers thickened against the phone. Dark hair rose over his knuckles and forearms. The sleeves of the polo tightened as his biceps grew heavier, less sculpted than Don’s gym-built arms but more naturally powerful. His shoulders widened. A warm pressure filled his chest, followed by the familiar prickling spread of hair beneath the fabric.
Tom stood too quickly. The kitchen tilted as several inches of youth seemed to settle downward into weight. His waist thickened. His stomach pressed against the polo, not huge, but unmistakably middle-aged. His thighs filled his khakis. His belt dug in.
Then his face began to pull. He gripped the counter while his jaw broadened and his cheeks roughened. Brown and gray whiskers pushed across his skin, forming the same dense beard he had admired the first time. His hairline shifted. Fine creases gathered beside his eyes.
When the transformation released him, Tom looked into the dark reflection of the kitchen window. Brian looked back.
“God, I’m so fucking hot.” Tom whispered, hearing the older man’s voice come from his throat.
A second voice answered inside him. Not words. Wanting. The thought of a quiet bar off the interstate. A corner booth. Whiskey ordered without checking the price. The certainty that Brian went there when he needed an hour no one in his family could account for. Tom knew where to find him.
⸻
Brian was alone when Tom entered the bar.
He sat beneath a muted television, wearing a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. A pale mark circled the finger where he had removed his wedding band. Tom felt the sight of it before he understood it: guilt, relief, and an old practiced sadness.
Brian looked up. His glass stopped halfway to his mouth. For several seconds neither man moved. Then Brian lowered the drink and said, “What the fuck!?”
Tom slid into the opposite side of the booth. Up close, the resemblance was exact. The same brown eyes. The same gray threaded through the beard. The same vertical line appearing between their brows.
Brian stared as though he had found a crack in reality and was trying to decide whether looking directly into it would make things worse.
Tom offered a nervous wide smile.
Brian’s expression changed with it. “You have my teeth.”
“I have more than that” he said gesturing downward with a stupid grin.
Brian glanced toward the bartender, then leaned across the table. “Who are you?”
“My name is Tom.”
“That doesn’t answer fucking anything.”
“No. It’s just the easiest part.”
Tom explained the body swap roulette as plainly as he could. Four friends. Four profiles. One night in borrowed bodies. He did not mention every detail, especially how much he had enjoyed Brian’s shape, or that he had fucked another man with Brian’s dick, but Brian seemed to understand it anyway.
“You chose to do this again,” Brian said.
“Yes.”
“Why me?”
Tom looked down at his thick, hairy hands. “Because look at yourself! Because I missed having all of this” he said as he moved one hand across his scruff and the other down to his pants.
Brian gave a humorless laugh. “You missed being a married man with a mortgage and two teenagers?”
“I missed feeling like you.”
“You don’t know what that feels like.”
Tom met his eyes. “Your daughter pretends she hates the old songs you play in the car, but you caught her singing one in the kitchen last Tuesday.”
Brian went still.
“Your son only calls you ‘Dad’ when he wants something. The rest of the time it’s ‘Brian’ because he knows it annoys you.”
“Stop.”
“You keep your wedding ring in the coin pocket of your jeans when you come here. You tell yourself removing it is more honest than wearing it.”
Brian’s face drained of color. Tom felt fear flare through both of them.
“I didn’t go looking for those things,” Tom said quietly. “They came with you.”
Brian’s hand closed around his glass. “What else?”
“That you’ve stood outside three gay bars and never gone in.”
The silence between them changed. The television crowd cheered soundlessly overhead.
Brian looked toward the window. “You need to leave.”
Tom started to rise then Brian caught his wrist.
The contact startled them both. Brian’s fingers encircled a wrist identical to his own. He turned it over and felt the palm of Tom’s hand. Rough. With hair encroaching from the wrist and across the knuckles.
“Wait,” he said.
Tom sat again. Brian studied him with a concentration that felt almost intimate. His gaze traveled over Tom’s face, then lowered to the open collar of the red polo, where dark chest hair showed above the top button.
“I don’t wear red,” Brian said.
“I do,” Tom replied.
“It looks better on me than I expected.”
Tom smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Brian’s mouth twitched despite himself, and his forehead creased as he looked Tom over. “It’s so surreal seeing my body from the outside. Do I really carry myself like that?” His eyes moved over the familiar breadth of Tom’s shoulders, the thickness through his waist, the gray threaded unevenly through the beard. “I never realized how dark the skin around my eyes had become, or how tired I look. Back in college I ran track and played soccer. I was lean enough that I could eat whatever I wanted and still see every muscle in my stomach. Even after I got married, I kept it up for a while. Morning runs, weekend leagues, lifting in the garage.” He gave a small, embarrassed shrug. “Then work got busier. The kids came. There was always something more important than going for a run, and eventually I stopped pretending I’d start again on Monday. Now my knees ache, my stomach hangs over my belt when I sit, and half the hair on my body is turning gray.” He studied Tom’s borrowed face with open disbelief. “How could you find me attractive like this?”
Tom glanced down at the body he was wearing, not critically but almost fondly. He spread one of Brian’s broad hands over the slightly soft weight at his middle, then looked back up. “Because none of that looks like failure to me.” Brian’s expression tightened, but Tom continued. “You look lived-in. Solid. Like you’ve spent years becoming someone instead of trying to stay twenty-five forever. I like the gray in your beard. I like the lines around your eyes. I like that your body is strong without looking like you built it for strangers to admire.” He flexed Brian’s fingers once, watching the tendons move beneath the hair on the back of the hand. “And I’ve always been attracted to older men. Not just because they’re older, but because they usually seem more comfortable taking up space.”
Brian let out a quiet laugh. “Comfortable? You’ve been inside my head. You know better than that.”
“I know you don’t feel comfortable,” Tom said. “That’s different from how you look.” He leaned forward slightly. “When I became you, I felt heavier, but I also felt grounded. I didn’t feel like I had to prove I belonged in the room. People looked at me and assumed I knew what I was doing. And when I looked in the mirror…” Tom paused, almost shy now. “I liked what I saw. The chest hair, the beard, the thicker waist, your hairy dick…all of it. I didn’t see some washed-up version of who you used to be. I saw a handsome man in his forties who has no idea how much of him is still worth wanting.”
Brian’s eyes dropped to the table. “You make it sound better than it is.”
“Maybe you’ve been describing yourself badly for so long that hearing the truth sounds exaggerated.”
That small surrender loosened something. Brian asked questions. Some were practical—how long the change lasted, whether Tom could control it, whether anyone else knew. Others were harder.
“Do you feel what I’m feeling right now?”
“Pieces of it.”
“What pieces?”
Tom considered lying. “You’re frightened.”
“Obviously.”
“You’re angry that I know you.”
Brian nodded once.
“And you want to kiss me.”
Brian’s eyes snapped to his.
Tom leaned back. “That part is fairly loud.”
For a moment Brian appeared offended. Then he glanced at Tom’s mouth. “It would be like kissing myself,” he said.
“Not exactly…” Tom replied.
“But you look exactly like me!”
“Maybe but I’m still mostly another man.”
Brian rubbed a thumb along the condensation on his half empty glass. “Technically.”
Tom laughed. “Technically?”
“If you are me—”
“I’m not.”
“—or close enough to me, then it’s not exactly cheating.”
“You took off your wedding ring before I arrived. You were ready to cheat…”
Brian looked down at his bare finger and Tom felt the shame move through him like a cold draft. It belonged to Brian, but it hurt in Tom’s chest.
“I’m not here to judge you,” Tom said.
“That makes one of us.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
Brian looked at the duplicate sitting across from him. “That’s the problem. I do.”
⸻
Brian followed Tom home in his own car. He had texted his wife from the parking lot, saying an early unexpected Saturday client meeting made it easier to stay near the office for the night.
At Tom’s house, Brian wandered through the rooms slowly while Tom got the two men a drink. There was nothing remarkable about Tom’s house. A mismatched couch. Framed photographs. Shoes kicked beneath a table. A picture of Tom with Phil, Don, and Ralph at Pride, all four men sunburned and grinning.
Brian picked it up. “You just leave this out?”
“It’s my house.”
“Someone could see it.”
“Who? And why would I care if they did?”
Brian had no answer.
Tom came closer. Their shoulders nearly touched. “There aren’t any hidden compartments in my life,” he said.
Brian returned the frame to the shelf with unusual care. “That must be nice.”
Tom felt the ache beneath the words because some of it still lived inside him. He touched Brian’s cheek. Brian did not pull away. Their first kiss was hesitant, almost absurdly cautious for two men wearing the same face. Then Brian gripped the back of Tom’s neck and kissed him again with a hunger that belonged entirely to himself.
Later, in the bedroom, Brian paused beside the bed. “You said you might change back.”
“While I’m asleep.”
“What will you look like?”
“Twenty-five. Brown hair. Clean-shaven.”
“Handsome?”
“Devastatingly.”
Brian rolled his eyes, but his nervousness remained.
Tom took his hand. “You pinged my profile on Scruff. Do you remember? I’m assuming that meant you were into me. You can still leave.”
Brian looked from their joined hands to Tom’s face - his own face. “I spent forty-six years leaving, tonight I’m going to stay” he said. “Besides. When else will a get a chance to fuck myself?” Then he planted a kiss deeply onto Tom’s mouth.
“So you think you’re the top tonight?” Tom replied smirking at the opportunity that presented itself.
“I have been my entire life” Tom scoffed in between kissing Tom.
“We’ll see” Tom said with a grin while he slowly began to unbutton Brian’s shirt - sliding it over his shoulders and exposing Brian’s chest. He ran his hands through the older man’s chest hair - pulling himself closer as they kissed.
Brian then reached over to Tom’s red polo and reciprocated by lifting it over his head and rubbing Tom’s chest. He then reached a hand down to Tom’s cock and grabbed it through his khakis before unbuckling the belt and lowering the zipper - letting the duplicate of Brian’s thick uncut cock flop out of Tom’s pants.
“Sorry,” Tom smirked. “No underwear.”
Brian looked down to the fully erect version of his dick staring at him on another man's body. He lowered to his knees - hungry for the intimacy he had long desired but never acted on. He smiled up at Tom.
Tom placed a hand on Brian’s head guiding the man onto his cock. Brian took the head into his mouth and placed a hand along the shaft. He slowly moved his hand up and down the base while sucking lightly on the head.
“Whoa,” Tom said. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”
Brian grinned and pulled his mouth off Tom’s dick while still pumping the shaft. “It’s my dick. You think I don’t know what it likes?”
“That’s fair…” Tom replied. “But I don’t recall giving you permission to stop.” He then grabbed Brian’s head with both hands and thrust his borrowed dick deep into Brian’s mouth.
What followed was not gentle. It was tender in flashes and anxious in others, charged by the knowledge of their shared body between them. Tom leaned into the fantasy with a kind of defiant intensity, letting Brian see and experience what he wanted, letting himself feel the strange power of being desired through another man’s outline.
Before long Tom had Brian naked on his back on the the bed taking a turning sucking his cock. He then spread Brian's cheeks and began to eat his asshole - the rough short beard scratching Brian and causing him to giggle.
“You think that’s funny?” Tom growled with the older man’s voice. Beginning to lose himself in the blur of desire. “Let’s see how you feel when I fuck you with your own dick, daddy.”
Brian stopped laughing and began to protest “Ohh, I don’t know about ….” but it was too late. Tom stood up, pulled Brian to the edge of the bed, lined up the tip of his older dick and began to push it into Brian’s tight virgin asshole.
“Uhhhh” was all Brian could get out before Tom pushed fully into his ass. Brian squeezed his eyes shut as the pain from penetration shook through his body.
After a few hard thrusts, Brian started to gently moan as Tom settled into a more steady rhythm. Tom pushed Brian further onto the bed and climbed on - leaning forward into missionary position so he could watch Brian’s face - but more importantly so that Brian could see as clear as day that he was being fucked by himself.
“Open your eyes” Tom commanded. “Do you like this? Do you like the feeling of getting fucked by your own big hairy dick?” Tom whispered.
Brian let out a soft moan as he scanned the man above him from bottom to top - his thick bush, his soft but still muscled midsection, his hairy chest, before settling into his own brown eyes. “Yes, sir” was all he could get out between the surge of pain and pleasure overwhelming his body.
“Good” Tom smirked. “Because I like fucking you with your own daddy cock. I like looking down on you beneath me, powerless, as I take your asshole’s virginity. I like you looking up at me and seeing yourself. And most of all, I like the idea of cumming so deep inside you you’ll carry it home with you tomorrow morning.”
Tom’s pace gradually quickened as Brian reached a hand down to his own dick and started jerking off. Just as Tom reached climax and shot his load deep into the mirror image of the ass he wore, Brian followed suit - spewing rope after rope of cum on his hairy chest.
The two men collapsed into a pile of sweat and testosterone. Brian’s sticky cum resting between their torsos. They stayed like that for several minutes listening as their breathing gradually slowed.
Tom pushed up into his hands and looked Brian in the eyes. “I told you we’d see if you were a top.” The two men then shared a brief laugh and kiss before settling into position to sleep - Brian getting to be the little spoon for the first time in his life.
As Brian drifted to sleep with Tom’s arms wrapped around him he felt overwhelmed with a feeling of fullness - both the fullness of having been filled by another man - cum still leaking out of his asshole - and the fullness of finally acting on a desire he had kept deep inside himself for 30 years. Where he would go from here remained to be seen...
⸻
Tom woke sometime in the night without opening his eyes. Brian’s borrowed body was dissolving. His beard receded into his skin. His jaw narrowed. The weight around his middle softened, then vanished. His chest contracted beneath Brian’s sleeping arm, the dense hair thinning to the lighter growth of his own body.
The strangest part was the silence inside him. Brian’s emotions loosened their hold. The family kitchen faded. The remembered pressure of a ring disappeared. Tom was left with sympathy rather than possession, knowledge without instinct. He became himself again and slipped back into sleep.
Later, morning light filled the room. Brian woke first. Tom surfaced to the sharp movement of the mattress and found Brian sitting upright, staring down at him.
The older man had pulled the sheet across his waist. Panic hardened his face.
Recognition arrived slowly. “Tom?”
“Still me.”
Brian stared at his real face. Tom suddenly felt very young beneath the inspection. Without Brian’s beard and bulk, he had lost the authority that had carried him through the previous night.
“You’re different,” Brian said.
“I warned you.”
“I know.”
“You can go if you want.”
Brian glanced toward the bedroom door, but he did not move.
Tom sat up, keeping a careful distance between them. “The man you came home with isn’t here anymore - not totally anyway.”
Brian looked down at his hands. “Last night, I told myself it wasn’t really another man.”
Tom waited.
“That was the excuse,” Brian said. “Not the reason.”
“What was the reason?”
Brian raised his eyes to Tom’s. “You looked at me like you already knew everything ugly about me and hadn’t decided to leave.”
“I didn’t think it was ugly.”
“You were wearing my face. That made it easier to believe you.”
Tom swallowed. “And now?”
Brian reached toward him, hesitated, then placed his palm against Tom’s smooth cheek.
“Now I have to believe you.”
He kissed Tom again. This kiss was quieter than the ones they had shared the night before. There was no mirror in it. No technical loophole. Brian touched a younger man with a different face and knew exactly what he was doing.
Afterward, still naked, except for a cap Tom had playfully put on his head before he left the bedroom because it “made him look like a baseball daddy,” Brian made coffee in the kitchen. Tom looked through his closet for a more comfortable shirt than the button-up Brian came in that might fit the larger man. Having failed, he gathered Brian's clothes from the night before.
When Tom entered the kitchen with Brian’s clothes he found Brian playfully flexing for him in the morning sunlight.
“Be honest,” Brian said. “In the light of day, without my face on you, do I still look good?”
Tom let his gaze linger. “Brian, I liked your body enough to borrow it twice. That should answer the question.”
The two men shared a laugh as Brian reached for his pants and his button up that Tom brought him.
Later at the kitchen counter while they were drinking their coffee, Brian folded a dish towel into a precise square.
“You always do that,” Tom said.
Brian looked down. “Do what?”
“Make yourself useful when you’re uncomfortable.”
“Did you learn that from becoming me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m beginning to resent how much you know.”
“You liked it last night," Tom replied with a wink.
“You were more respectful when you had my face.”
“I don’t think anything we did last night would be classified as respectful! But I also had your repression. It slowed the real me down. I was giving it like 50 percent.”
Brian laughed before he could stop himself. Then his phone buzzed on the counter and the laughter disappeared. Tom watched him read the message in silence.
“I need to go home,” Brian said.
“I know.”
At the front door, Brian hesitated. “Can you become me again?”
“Probably.”
“Can I see you again?”
Tom looked at the older man he had wanted so badly to inhabit. “Yes,” he said. “But I don’t want that to be the only version of me you’ll come here for.”
Brian’s gaze moved over Tom’s real face. “It isn’t. I mean, it won't be.”
He was a very talented player even when he was 5'6", so just imagine how good he will be over everyone next season when he stands at 6'7" after getting the body of his dream from the tall cocky jockbro that underestimated his skill. The jock thought that just because he's tall, he would clear the shorter dude. Clearly that jock learned his lesson as with every round he lost, some of his features transferred to the shorter dude. Unable to run as it was a trap set by the 5'6" dude, the 6'7" jock forced to went on games after games until the shorter dude satisfied. He lost his height, his muscle, his angular feature, his cock girth and even his baritone voice until they practically swapped most of their features. With the final victory in sight, the now 6'7" red-haired new sensation easily send the ball in while the now short jockbro failed to even get close to the rim. That's when the jockbro lost his former life memory and only aware of the fact that he just messed with a tall imposing jockbro that he shouodn't mess with from the very beginning.
Isaac was raised christian all his life. He had fought the impure urges he had ever eince puberty hit him. He would not give in to the devil and let him take him along the path of homosexuality.
Recently Jeremiah, a fellow christian and his ex best friend, had turned into a full blown queer. He didn't know how it had happened but he had prayed daily for him to return to god and repent. He had grown out his hair, dyed it, and gotten tattoos. He also went by "Jet" now. It was also clear now that he spent his days working out or swimming, he had bulked up quite a bit. Somehow he had a late growth spurt and grew up to 6 foot, all of this contributed to Jet becoming super popular.
Isaac envied him. He was always short and skinny, and they used to be short and skinny together. But now he was by himself, lonely.
One night Isaac was alone at home studying his bible when he got a notification- It was Jet.
"hey, sorry i kinda ghosted you bro. I sent you and audio file explaining everything. I promise you want to listen."
Isaac hesitated as he pressed the button. He was expecting a voice note but it was just static. As he continued listening he swore he could hear words in the background but he couldn't quite make them out. No matter how uncomfortable he was he continued to listen, it felt magnetic.
As he became entranced he fell asleep at his desk, his bible covered by his slober as the file continued to play continuously.
---
As he woke up he felt sore. Rubbing his neck he got up to get ready for school. As he caught a look of himself in the mirror, he stood stunned. No longer was the skinny little boy, there in his place was a man who looked his age. He was well above 6 foot, almost 7 foot and much more muscular. His face matured more and the beard he was never able to grow somehow grew overnight. He flexed as he felt those impure thoughts take hold of him again.
This time, it was unstoppable.
He felt his member start to rise as he stared at himself more. Groping his juicy pecs as he traced his large hands down his defined valley of abs.
He pulled out his member as it rose quicker to its full potential. Nearly 17 inches hard. As he wrapped his meaty hands around the base of his cock he started to slowly massage it. He had never done this but it felt right. He slowly massaged as he got to the tip, teasing it a bit as he arched his back in ecstacy. As he kept going he finally splat on the mirror. The pent up seed that had been in him for years multiplied by 10 by his incredibly transformation allowed the mirror to be completely covered in cum.
He decided to send Jet a picture, he was sure it would feel better to be in him than his hand.
I woke up to the sound of clanging weights and an unfamiliar, strong scent of sweat. Confused, I opened my eyes to a bustling gym instead of my usual bedroom. My reflection in a nearby mirror showed a handsome muscular Asian man – a stark contrast to my skinny, white self. My eyes were immediately drawn to the well-defined muscles. The chest was broad and with bulging pectorials. "What the...? This not me," I muttered, staring at the stranger in the mirror. My name was Mervin, a geeky guy who loved computers, but now, I was somehow this man named Hao Zheng.
I attempted to articulate my thoughts, but I quickly noticed a struggle with language. "Why talking so haawd? Eng... Eng-rish words not come out light." I muttered, feeling not just a struggle with language but a slowness with my thoughts. Simple sentences felt like puzzles I had to piece together. "My voice... sound so low. Deep, with accent. Bù kě sī yì!" Ideas and concepts that I would normally process in English were now forming in Chinese, making me feel even more disconnected from myself.
As I tried moving around with my new heft, I felt an uncomfortable body odor emanating from me. The scent was overpowering, and pungent. My mind was clouded, and I found it hard to focus on anything other than lifting weights. "Lift more, tink less," I heard myself saying. “No pain, no gain. Duì ma?” I find myself fist bumping some Hispanic bodybuilders who I could only assume were gymmates.
Exhausted from the workout, I trailed behind my gymmates. "We go work now, lift real stuff," one of them said with a Puerto Rican accent, slapping me on the back. I nodded, trying to fit in, but inside, I was screaming. I discovered Hao Zheng was a construction worker, a life different from my own. Looking down, I saw hands that were rough and calloused, bearing the marks of hard work.
The sun beat down on us, and I felt sweat mix with the dirt on my skin. "You carry this," a coworker said, handing me a heavy load. The words were simple, but my mind struggled to grasp them. "Yes, I carry," I replied, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. "Why so slow today, Hao?" a colleague asked. "Not feel good," I mumbled, unable to explain the inner struggle inside me.
Exhausted from the day's labor, I trudged back to what was now my home – a small, dingy studio that reeked of neglect. The odor hit me the moment I stepped in, a mix of stale food and unwashed clothes. The thought of showering in the cramped, unkempt bathroom was too much to bear. So, I simply let my clothes fall to the floor, leaving my dirty work clothes in a pile on the floor.
As I stood in front of the mirror, I hardly recognized the person staring back at me. The muscular physique, the broad shoulders, and the rough, calloused hands were still a wonder to me. For a moment, a sense of pride swelled within me as I marveled at the muscular physique. "This... strong body,"
Touching my face, I felt the rough texture of the skin, so different from my own. My reflection showed a face hardened by sun and labor, with a stern expression that seemed perpetually etched into it. I took a closer look at the scars and marks that adorned this body, each a testament to a life of hard physical work. "Maybe Hao Zheng not so bad," I whispered.
Not caring about the dirt and sweat that clung to my skin, I lay down on the small, uncomfortable bed with the smell of the day's toil surrounding me. I felt disgust, not just at the odor, but at the entire situation. "Wǒ shì shéi? How this happen?" I thought, my mind still reeling in confusion. The bed, with its lumpy mattress and musty sheets, slick against my skin. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the unfamiliarity of my surroundings.
Despite the smell and the discomfort, exhaustion quickly took over. As I drifted off to sleep, I clung to the hope that this was all just a bad dream. "我是谁？是Hao Zheng 还是Mervin？(Who am I? Hao Zheng or Mervin?) Please, let me wake up as myself," I whispered into the darkness.
Feral-Boogies @feralboogies - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
